


Love in Eight Parts

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Early Days, Fluff and Humor, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: As in the title...





	1. At the window...

**Author's Note:**

> A remnant of NaNoWriMo 2017

At the Window...

Sherlock stood, his observation of the activity on the street below slowly drawn away by the urgent command of his Mind Palace to examine the case just closed. 

In a convoluted three-day case trailing a suspect to numerous disreputable locations within the city, always just a step or two behind, with little sleep, or food, they’d finally closed in, just the two of them. When their prey forgot to use his common sense and reversed course only to collide with Captain Watson, John emerged from the scuffle slightly bruised, and more than a bit pleased with himself, evidenced by his displaying proud as a peacock once Sherlock snapped on the handcuffs.

NSY arrived to take him away, and they were home soon after. Less than thirty minutes later John sent an email to Lestrade using a newly installed auto-signature software that eliminated the need to appear in person. Lestrade was not pleased.

The shifting and snapping of the logs in the grate drew Sherlock out of his Mind Palace with a jolt as the more personal aspects of the day gathered at the edges of his thoughts. Those belonged to John’s area of his Mind Palace which needed a more thorough, more personal evaluation in the after midnight hours. 

They’d showered together, dressing for comfort in pyjama bottoms, t-shirts and dressing gowns. John made tea and cheese on toast which they ate while standing at the worktop, which happened to be the only unoccupied surface in the kitchen at the moment. Neither minded; just being together was enough. 

Sherlock turned from the window for a moment to gaze at the man dozing in the chair beside the fire. The warmth that filled him was a strange, and wondrous thing. Was it a feeling? Yes, that was the word. At the sight of the tawny head resting against the back of the chair, the tiniest flicker within his once alone and isolated heart roared to life. Yes, he pondered, it was a happy state of being, and it had everything to do with his army doctor. 

He thought about going to John at that exact moment, to wake him, to hold him, but sleep was what his doctor needed. Unlike John, sleep evaded him. He would have welcomed it, had it been offered to him, but it was not to be. Perhaps later, when he could curl around his doctor.

Opposite their Baker Street window an idling cab caught his attention. Observing a man and a woman as they stepped from the vehicle, Sherlock found himself holding his breath when the woman pointed toward their door. As she turned her head to speak to her companion, Sherlock narrowed his gaze, willing them to pass by. The man paid the cab fare, glancing at their door as he did so. He took her arm, guiding her away from the kerb. When each held the other’s hand, and walked away to some other location, Sherlock allowed a relieved breath.

Soon it would be dark beyond the window. Because of John, he embraced both the day and the night equally, aware now of the possibilities in each. He looked forward to it in these early days. 

He hadn’t noticed John’s movement from the chair behind him or the padding of his socked feet until the doctor’s arms circled his waist from behind. 

“I can usually hear you thinking from the far end of any room, but you’ve been unusually quiet. So, what were you doing in your Mind Palace?”

“Filing.”

“Ah.”

John came around him then, rising on his toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“So, not regurgitating the data from this last case?”

“No..regurgitating data, really John?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he smiled down at his doctor.

“Extrapolating, then?”

“Yes, extrapolating is a better verb, but that was earlier.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock sighed, pulling John against his chest. “Nothing really, at least not just now. I refused to deduce a couple opposite the window who had arrived by cab. They nodded to each other and the woman pointed to our door. I thought for a moment they were about to cross Baker Street to knock, but they walked on. It was then that I decided I didn’t want to take on another case any time soon.”

“Maybe you’re getting too old for this..”

“Bite your tongue, Dr. Watson. It may happen one day, but not today.”

“And before that you were..filing?”

Sherlock knew by John’s miniscule grin that he wasn’t about to give up on the filing comment. ‘Wait for it,’ he thought.

“Humor me, then, Sherlock. What were you...filing?”

The detective sighed, rolled his eyes, smiled, and gave in, as he always did. For John.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Personal data about you, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Mind Palace, John. All the data I have compiled, everything concerning you is stored in RAM, waiting to be transferred to my hard drive. That was the more important task I was working on.”

John frowned “Oh.”

Thinking of John’s two fingered approach to his laptop, that he knew how to use one, but was not particularly interested in how it stored his data, Sherlock searched for an analogy that was more up John’s street.

“I don’t..”

Sherlock framed John’s face with his long fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you a visual, John, your consulting room at the surgery?”

“Yes?”

“The desk?”

“Yes?”

“Ram is the inbox on your desk. The hard drive is your filing cabinet.”

“Oh, right, that makes sense. Thanks.”

“Your welcome.”

“Give us a kiss love? I mean, since you are so dangerously near me.”

“I said danger and here you are.”

Sherlock let his gaze wander over his doctor’s beautiful face and stopped at his eyes which at that moment looked back at him with a love that only John possessed and offered freely to him alone. Only John knew how to fill the emptiness that threatened to end him in the years before they’d met and only now whenever they were apart. Eliminating the distance between them, Sherlock covered John’s mouth in a sweet kiss. 

In the depths of John’s soul, in the warmth of his love, Sherlock had found the one someone to keep his heart safe.


	2. Silent Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

After their dinner of a vegetable casserole, courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, and tea of course, Sherlock left John at the sink to do the washing up, which, much to Sherlock’s amusement, the his army-doctor good-naturedly grumbled just loud enough to be heard from the sitting room table where the detective checked his emails. Oddly, there were none. 

A bit cross, he turned to John’s laptop, and the recently changed password, which he deduced in less than a minute and chortled at John’s sarcasm. “Mycroftisanarse?”

“Yes.“

“Well done, John.”

“He annoyed me this past week.”

“He annoys you anytime he calls, which is thankfully rare, or texts, which you usually ignore so that I must answer as your intermediary, or when he appears at our flat doorway, which is...most unfortunate.”

“I’ve made it my life’s work to annoy your brother. You’ve taught me well.”

“We really need to teach Mrs. Hudson how to keep the dangerous and disreputable away from our home and place of business.”

John snorted and giggled until he was nearly breathless. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Quite, and you have no emails or texts either.”

“Has your brother insulted some despot in a foreign country that we don’t know about?” John called to him. “He usually makes himself scarce when he’s about to go to war.”

“Not that I’m aware, John, but I will check the world news a bit later.”

John put the last clean plate into the cupboard as Sherlock closed both laptops and stood to stretch his back. Turning suddenly, he strode towards John with purpose. Catching his former army soldier/doctor off guard, Sherlock rested his hands on John’s hips and leaned down to surprise him with a kiss. John groaned, his knees buckling beneath him, but Sherlock easily supported his weight. When John locked his arms around his neck, Sherlock smiled against his mouth. 

“Dance with me, Dr. Watson.”

“Wh-what?”

“You aren’t deaf, John, you heard me. Dance with me.”  
“Right now?“

”No, next week, of course right now.”

“All right. Who leads?”

“Neither, John.”

Sherlock took John’s hand and led him to the sitting room.

“Sherlock, there isn’t enough room to dance.”

The detective leaned closer to whisper in his ear, hoping it would send a shaft of..delight?..along John’s spine, and perhaps create interest elsewhere.

“My dear John, I believe I taught you to dance in this very room-” He bit his lip to stop the next words, the ones he knew he should not speak, but too late he saw the hurt of those unspoken words chase away John’s smile. 

The wedding dance with Mary.

As an silent apology for his careless words, Sherlock wrapped both his arms around John. Truth was, he just wanted to hold John close; dancing was just a means to an end. John needed no further urging, circling his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

“Sherlock, there isn’t any music.”

“I don’t need music to dance with you. Do you need music? We can use a playlist on my laptop, it will only take a moment-”

“No, Sherlock,” John ground out, holding fast to him, resting his forehead against his sternum. “You’re right, we don’t need music. We have our own.” 

Held tightly against each other, neither man needed anything more than their own movement to some silent music which together they’d written in their hearts long ago. 

0o0

John fit perfectly under Sherlock’s chin, and there was no better place for him to be at that moment. Resting his ear against Sherlock’s chest to hear his strong, steady heartbeat, although a bit elevated at the moment, he smiled. The weight of the detective’s chin on the top of his head reminded him of a time not that long ago. John skipped by the cause of the cherished snapshot in time and concentrated on the feeling of comfort he’d felt then, as now. It is what it is, Sherlock had told him.

Things were very different now. He’d never thought he would be okay again, that he would ever to able to love again. Sherlock had made that possible for him, had guided him gently to realise that they’d loved each other from the first moment they’d met and that in time, there would be a future for them. Together, as it seemed now, was always meant to be.

John sighed, holding on for dear life, for that was what Sherlock had offered him. A new life, not once, but three times.  
Yes, it had been terrifying, filled with pain and grief, anger, but for all that Sherlock had more than helped him move through it. He had shown him how to survive. He’d only had to open his heart and reach for it. Sherlock had given it freely, and unconditionally and had waited for him on the other side. 

If he was honest with and trusted himself, and Sherlock had taught him how to do that when Mary no longer could, he’d known it all along. Sometimes, he could still hear Mary’s voice telling him to listen to Sherlock. 

‘Yeah, he’s a monster, but he’s our monster,’ Mary had said, albeit in his head, for now he knew he’d been arguing with himself. Sherlock was just trying to do what he thought was the right thing to do. It was never his intention to hurt anyone else. Even when Sherlock almost ended his own life, to save him, to save both of them, he wasn’t at all the monster John thought he was.

“Stop thinking about your feet, John, or whatever else you’ve got ping-ponging in that head of yours. Just move to the music of your heart.”

As Sherlock’s words faded away, John felt a calm wash over him, a feeling he’d experienced rarely after Mary, but almost daily now. He shivered, lost in the warmth of Sherlock and the way his body moved to the music only they could hear.

John wished for the grace of Sherlock’s dance as he struggled to keep from stepping on his partner’s socked feet.

“You’re doing fine, John. Remember, don’t think. Just feel.”

At some point during their slow dance, John noticed that Sherlock had begun to hum a melody that he recognised as one of his compositions for violin. From deep in his diaphragm his beautiful baritone reverberated against John’s ear, which still rested over Sherlock’s heart.

John smiled, pressing himself against Sherlock’s body even more. In response, the detective pressed one hand firmly against the small of John’s back, pulling him in more than seemed physically possible and with his other hand cradled the nape of John’s neck. 

He wanted to dance with Sherlock forever. Improbable, impossible, but it was the truth. John smiled to himself   
For an idiot, his paraphrasing wasn’t half bad. His genius would smile indulgently at him if he knew of John’s thoughts.

He wished he could see Sherlock’s face as they danced. Was it as calm as he felt his own to be? Was there joy in his expression? Did the same joy that was now forever written in his own heart, reflect back to Sherlock? He hoped it was so. Pleasing this man was the least he could do for all that he’d been given.

John sighed as he imagined the smile that might be on Sherlock’s face at that moment.  
“Are you smiling, John?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you so happy right at this moment?”

“You. I’m here with you and there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“I’d like to dance for a little while longer..if that’s all right?” 

“Yes, my love, I’d like that.”

They danced, fiercely holding on to each other. Everything outside the small space that was their dance floor disappeared.  
Sherlock no longer hummed. Only the silence remained.

“I hear it, Sherlock, it sounds like violin music.”

“Yes, John, that’s it. Listen to the notes. Let them guide you.”


	3. In the Still of Night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

“John.”

Sherlock’s whisper of his name settled over one ear like a gentle spring breeze, and the weight of his body held him captive as if swaddled by long arms and legs.

“Yes, my heart. My answer will always be yes.”

Dipping his head, Sherlock took his mouth gently, nipping at the sensitive skin just beneath his ear, the hollow of his throat, shivering as a wave of love washed over him. Feeling so loved, cherished, treasured, that any past doubt fled from the marrow of his bones, John framed this beautiful man’s face with his trembling hands.

Sherlock moved against him, eliciting a soft moan from somewhere unknown to mankind. “Tease,” he whispered past the gasp he suspected was his own.

“Mmm.”

John shivered at the vibration he wasn’t quite sure which of them created. 

“Chill?”

“God no.”

The detective huffed a response that John easily understood as amusement.

Arms around each other, trading hungry, needy kisses in the silence of their love nest, the newest image inside his head, John pulled back to allow them both to breathe properly.

Hearts beating a million times faster than normal, John kissed Sherlock’s temple. “Let’s breathe, love, we have all night.”

In the pale hallway light slivering past their door that stood ajar just a few inches, John was able to gaze into the exquisite eyes which at that moment were awash with unshed tears.

“Love? All right?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock murmured, his throaty reply reaching down to cellular level and diverting his blood flow. “I love you.”

John, still holding Sherlock’s face in his hands, kissed his nose. Sherlock growled another kiss against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip.

“I love you so much it hurts my heart.”

“Ah, poetry,” he teased, nuzzling against John’s neck. He moved, aligning their hips.

“Touching you anytime I want to, need to, makes me ache because I never thought you-”

“I hear you, my lovely John. I assure you that is for me as well, it is not an unfamiliar pain, but it is, quoting your words, an exquisite pain.”

Sherlock rolled away, taking John with him so that they lay on their sides facing each other. Long fingers caressed his shoulder, but there was no examination of the wound, Sherlock having long ago catalogued all the pertinent data, filing it away, safe and secure, within his Mind Palace.

Sherlock held him in a long sweet kiss until he could barely breathe. He was so good at that, John thought, smiling against the lush lips that held his captive.

John held Sherlock’s intense gaze, neither pulling back nor blinking as the love of his life feathered a fingertip across his eyelashes. 

“Soft.”

“Fetish?”

“Very soft.”

“Thank you,” John whispered, drawing him in for another kiss. “I could do this all night.”

“Challenge accepted, my love.”

The doctor laughed, reaching for Sherlock, holding him close. For a long while they simply breathed together, as though in all the world it was the last thing John would ever do. He felt himself flinch as the weight of that thought threatened to crush him. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed onto Sherlock’s bare shoulder.

Sherlock held him tighter, cradling his head, offering comfort, as only he could. “It’s all right, John.”

Silence gathered them in once more. John clutched Sherlock to his chest, tethered to him so no invisible force of nature or universe could tear them apart.

0o0

As he lay in the darkness, with John clinging to him like an adorable marsupial? he considered his doctor’s comment about never imagining that he, Sherlock, would want him ‘in that way.’ Remembering all the lost time when they could have been together like this nearly shattered his heart, but John was here now. He was safe, and if not happy, he was at least content. That contentment was something Sherlock wanted to nurture and sustain for the rest of their lives.

Odd how life unfolded. What had he ever done in his life to deserve this man, he couldn’t fathom. He’d been a selfish man most of his adult life, but no longer. Now he lived, not only for John, but for himself, too.

Sherlock kissed John’s temple. “Are you asleep?”

“No, John whispered, snuggling in closer. Your thinking is keeping me awake. Are you? Asleep, I mean?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Tried to, but there was too much thinking going on.” 

“Oh?”

“You were so warm and comfortable, clinging to me like a bee mired in a dollop of honey-”

“Wait, that’s a new image. I need to savor it for a moment. So I’m a bee and you’re the honey?”

“Of course, as I am the future Sussex beekeeper and you are my noble assistant.”

“Nope, no sidekick, assistant, colleague, etc., etc.”

“The beekeeper’s honey, then?”

John giggled. “Hmm. Yes, I do like the sound of that. Honey for each other, I think is more the case.”

“Indeed, and you shall have title of The beekeeper’s honey. For now.”

“Hmm? Wait...for now? Why not forever? Are you leaving me again?” The words were past his lips before he could clamp his mouth shut.

Ignoring the fearful words that every now and again issued from his doctor’s lips, Sherlock rolled John onto his back, and reclaimed his favored venue.

“Because, my dear Watson, one day soon I hope you will agree to become the beekeeper’s husband,” he said against John’s neck.

John gasped. “Oh.”

“Just oh?” Sherlock whispered, grasping John’s wrists to pin them to the pillow on either side of his head.

Even in the dim light, Sherlock observed the dark, dilated pupils in eyes blown wide. He supposed his own were as well. Slotting himself carefully against John’s body, he began to move, slowly, deliberately, not allowing his gaze to stray from those eyes that seemed to burn with more intensity as each second passed. Several times John tried to speak, but no words passed his lips.

“Speechless, a very fine look on you, my love. That’s it, keep your eyes-” he began, cutting off his next words. 

Keep your eyes on me. 

More words never to be spoken, nor words John need ever hear again. No, never those words again.

“Don’t look away. I want to see your eyes, John, your beautiful indigo eyes. Stay with me, John, I need you to stay with me.”

John gave him three quick nods just before Sherlock took his lips, searing him with a kiss. John’s groan filled his mouth, bringing him to the edge. 

There will always be two of us.

Sherlock remembered John’s words but dismissed the entire image of that moment, as he had so many others to keep John safe from remembering. One day he would, but only when Sherlock felt him strong enough. John, in his amusement, called it ‘the commanding officer syndrome.’ 

Sherlock called it love.


	4. At the Edge...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title says...

It was gathering around the periphery of his vision. It wouldn’t be long. In a fuzzy corner of John’s mind, he wondered if they would go over the edge together. Together or not at all.

He locked his gaze on the man whose face swam in from of his eyes for one simple reason. This beautiful madman was his whole world now. 

A sudden disconnect. Betrayal in his thoughts. Mary, reaching out to him from somewhere outside himself. John’s heart stuttered in his chest, his vision clouded, but he held Sherlock’s gaze. 

‘Get the hell on with it,’ she said to him, as she had months ago. His throat burned, his eyes filled as a single sob broke free. As suddenly as she’d appeared to him, she was gone.

“John, stay with me. Look at me, John. Stay in this moment.”

Sherlock slowed his movement. John groaned, but was too far gone to speak. He couldn’t think anymore. A single movement of Sherlock’s hips brought him closer to the edge, but it was just the one. 

One step forward, one step back. It was almost more than John could bear, but he held on. He always held on. For Sherlock. Always together.

Sherlock’s beautiful face above him shone with sweat, the determination in his eyes strong. “Stay with me, John.”

Although his vision was nearly gone, his breath painful in his chest, and his skin on fire, he struggled. Pleasing Sherlock became his reason for holding on.

“I’m right here, John.”

Sherlock rocked against him slowly, gently, but John refused to go over the edge without him. 

That face, that lovely face attached to the man who was the love of his life, faded in and out, from widescreen to pinhole, but refused to disappear from his sight. Sherlock was his reason for living now. All the love he had in him was meant for William Sherlock Scott Holmes and he, John Hamish Watson, had forever within his reach.

0o0

So close. John was so close he trembled with the effort. Sherlock wasn’t far behind, but this had to be right. If John said yes to his heartfelt proposal, they had to fall together. 

John stared at him, the determination to stay with him a testament to his Watson strength and stubborn nature. How he loved that about this man, this man who was the keeper of his heart and soul.

He leaned down to kiss him, slowly, gently, once, twice, thrice. He smiled, remembering John’s ‘thrice, Sherlock? Really?’ John’s trembling hint of a smile seemed to say he recalled that particular exchange as well.

Like an old married couple, Sherlock thought. Would they one day finish each other’s sentences?

Sherlock found it harder and harder to think. His pulling back didn’t help, it only sabotaged the tentative hold he had on his own physical control. Soon he’d be beyond the point of thought and too deep into the feeling that was rising up and would inevitably overwhelm them both. It was imperative that he took John with him. Even in this, this important aspect of their lives together..it had to be accomplished together. John had once told him it was together or not at all. He held himself to that standard, for John. Always for John.

“Sher-”

Sherlock knew the time was now. John was on the edge, as was he, now. He took John’s mouth again, kissing him deeply until John begged with his eyes to be set free. 

He smiled down at John. “I need your answer now, John. It’s important.”

John groaned, his body crying out for his release. “Shite, yes, Sherlock. God damn, yes. My answer will always be yes to you. F-ffff-uh=ckckckck. Oh, God. I can’t. I can’t. Sherlock!”

Releasing John’s wrists to allow him to slip his hands beneath his doctor’s shoulders, Sherlock canted his hips just right to push John to the precipice without letting him fall. Repeating the tilt of his hips against John was all that was needed. 

John arched his back, forcing his head into the pillow. He cried out, desperately clutching Sherlock around his neck as they both slipped over the edge into oblivion.


	5. Falling into you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

The intensity of his release washed over him in waves. Sherlock lay collapsed on top of him, his breathing as harsh as his own. John welcomed the weight of him as they slowly, so slowly stepped back into themselves. Together.

John buried his fingers in Sherlock’s soaked hair, lifting his head to press an exhausted kiss to his forehead.

“That was..brilliant, Sherlock. Amazing. Extraordinary.”

Sherlock lay still, his racing heart pounding against John’s chest. 

“Love? Sherlock? Are you with me?”

John tilted Sherlock’s head until he could cradle him on his shoulder to get a better look at him. John thought he looked a total wreck, taken apart and only partly put back together until he saw the tears streaking his cheeks.

“Sherlock? What is it? Is something wrong?” Breathing a sigh of relief when Sherlock placed a non-verbal ‘shut up, John’ finger to his lips, John obeyed at once.

“You said yes,” Sherlock mumbled against his neck. “And I think I’m falling into you.”

“I did, didn’t I?” John whispered back, wiping away the tears from those incredible cheekbones.

“Did you mean it or were you just trying to make me get on with it?”

“If ‘it’ means your incredible lovemaking, yes, I wanted you to get on with it because I was about to lose my mind, which I subsequently did, thank you, by the way, it was brilliant, amazing and extraordinary-”

“You’ve said that already, John.”

“Unlike yourself, love, I don’t hate repeating myself.”

“Does that mean your yes still holds?”

John pulled back a bit to look at him. “Course it does, my love. For always.”

“For always,” Sherlock repeated, burying his face against John’s neck. For a long while John held Sherlock, not minding a bit that his sticky detective clung to him until he feared they’d be stuck together for the foreseeable future.

“John?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think you’re able to stand?”

“I think so, you?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“Shower?”

“God yes.”


	6. There will always be you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

Naked, warm and still slightly damp from their shower, they slipped beneath the duvet, curling into each other, chest to chest, arms holding, and legs tangled. When accustomed to the dim light once more, their eyes found each other.

Elegant, inquisitive fingers explored with feathered touches the smaller contours of the body he knew so well. There was no need for new data, this was for Sherlock a study in touch. 

Diminutive, mild mannered Dr. Watson, who was most often the tallest presence in any room, possessed lips that were as comfortable with Sherlock’s loving touch and creative kisses as they were with curses and Captain Watson commands.

'Mine.'

If eyes truly were the windows to the soul, as those in the know claimed, what he saw in the depths was extraordinary, a multitude of mysteries in one small package of sand-colored skin and sturdy bones and the ginger tone of the bristly day-old beard beneath his fingers.

No longer burdened with trust issues, John, now more in touch with his emotions, loved him without reservation, an exquisite gift. 

'Thank you, Mary Watson for a gift I will guard and treasure for as long as I live.' 

John’s eyes were too bright, filled with unshed tears that suddenly brimmed and slipped down his cheeks. Cradling John’s head against his shoulder, he felt the tears dampen his skin. 

These were not tears of sorrow, but rather, tears of hesitant joy. So much had happened in their lives, it was a wonder that John survived the emotional impact.

He liked to think this was some sort of reward from the universe, if such a thing existed, but it was John who deserved it, rather than himself. He didn’t know where it originated, but he gave it no lasting thought. Loving John with every cell in his body was now his most important Work. 

Tracing his thumb across each of John’s eyebrows, along his cheek to lay a palm along his jaw, Sherlock leaned in to tenderly cover his doctor’s mouth with his own. At John’s sudden intake of breath, Sherlock smiled.

“It’s such a beautiful notion, John.”

“What is?”

Hearing the catch in John’s whisper, Sherlock brought their foreheads together, and for a moment the silence was more than enough.

“That you are mine and I am yours.”

“Kinda nice, isn’t it?

“Indeed it is, my dear John.”

“I like the idea that there will always be a you in my life.”

“And I, you.”

“Would you kiss me now?”

“It would be my pleasure, my dear John.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“And I do know my way around a Watson.”

“Sher-ll-ock! Oh, God-d-d.”


	7. Finding Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

Sherlock lay on his back between John’s legs, with his head at John’s sternum, and his knees up with a journal propped against his thighs. He hadn’t read a word in the last hour. With John’s sturdy fingers caressing his sensitive follicles, the rest of him had forgotten how to function.

“You know, your journal would make more sense if you turned it rightside up.”

“Mmm.”

“Like that, do you?”

“Glorious, John. My follicles are dancing the salsa.”

John chuckled. “You aren’t at all bored, are you?”

“John, as I’ve stated at least a dozen times in the last forty-eight hours, I am never bored when I have someone to play with.”

“And lying around on the sofa for the last-” John glanced at his watch on the edge of the coffee table-five hours is your definition of play?”

“Only if it’s with you, John. Do keep up. I never play with anyone else.” 

“Well, thank God for that.”

“Possessive, are you, John?”

“No, that’s your area.”

“And I’m very good at it, if I do say so myself.”

“I think you just did.”

“Hmm. John?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Are you feeling strong enough after resting all day?”

John ceased his curl massage. “What do you have in mind? I could hardly walk in a straight line from the bed to the sofa after the last time we played.”

“I promise to be good now, but I can’t promise to be good later.”

“That’s good to know, Sherlock. I’ll put 'find strength' on my to do list.”

“Arse.”

John pulled Sherlock’s hair just to hear him moan. He smiled wickedly, kissing the crown of his head.

“So, why did you ask about my strength?”

“Well, I was thinking-”

“When are you not thinking?”

“When I am holding you and making love to you.”

John cleared his throat. 

“And taking you apart and helping you put yourself back together.”

“Oh.”

“I find you most beautiful when you are falling backwards off the edge of your control.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me. That’s really lovely, Sherlock.”

“It’s true.”

“I know it is, just by the words you used. I love you, my heart.”

“And I love you, John, with all of my heart and everything else that I have.”

“You romantic fool, you.”

Sherlock tipped his head to look up at him. “So, have you gathered all your strength?”

“Depends on what kind of strength is needed?”

“I was wondering if we had the ingredients for your ‘thing with the peas?’”

John laughed, kissing Sherlock’s curly head again. “I’m sure I can find something in the fridge as long as we have some peas.”

“Well...if we don’t, Mrs. Hudson does, she loves peas, puts them in nearly everything she brings to us.”

“True.”

“It’s early yet, so, if you’ll let me up, I’ll check the fridge. If we need peas, would you mind seeing to that?”

“Of course, John.”

“Time for tea? What am I saying, it’s always time for tea.”

“Yes, please, John and the last of the scones?”

“Honey?”

“Oh, yes, good idea.”

Sherlock rolled off the sofa and up onto his feet in one fluid motion, stretching his lanky body so that his t-shirt rode up to show his belly button. 

John sat up quickly, grabbed his hips to pull Sherlock closer, and kissed the little button just because he could. Sherlock shrieked like a little girl and pulled his shirt down.

“John?”

“Oh, love, don’t be shy. I did it because I wanted to.”

“Oh, that’s okay then.”

“Better be, if you know what’s good for you.”

Sherlock offered his hand to pull him up off the sofa. John groaned, stretching his back, and performing a bit of a dance to stretch the muscles in his legs.

“Sore?”

“A bit. I had a lanky git using my body for his comfort all afternoon and everything tightened up.”

“I’d be pleased to loosen you up, we have time before dinner.”

“No, Sherlock, you might have the time, but I’m the one preparing dinner, remember? Oh, don’t get all sulky on me, love. Besides, I need to conserve my strength for later.” 

Sherlock’s pout turned into his most wicked grin. “Very well, John.”

“I have a feeling I may live to regret this. I know what that grin of yours usually means,” John said, shaking his head.

“Shh, It’s a secret, John, don’t tell anyone.”

John threw up his hands, waving them around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, mister consulting detective, and who would I tell even if I did? Mrs. Hudson? Greg? Your brother, heaven forbid? And I’m not about to tell anyone, other than you, about what we do in there?” he said just below a shout, and pointed at the bedroom door.

Sherlock stepped forward to take him in his arms. John melted against him, pressing his face against the detective’s chest.

“Conserve your strength, John, everything will be fine.”

“I live with a madman, how much more strength will I need?”

Sherlock grinned at him.

John laughed, shaking his head. “I need to check the fridge now.”

Sherlock took his hand and walked him to the kitchen, watching while John poked around in the fridge rearranging the fixings he’d need for dinner in one corner of the least offensive shelf. 

“I binned everything, John. There’s nothing in there that will offend you.”

“Stop reading my mind, Sherlock.”

“Is the honeymoon over before it even begins?”

John quickly turned to catch the expression on Sherlock’s face. It wasn’t so much the expression as the hurt in his eyes. Immediately contrite, John closed the fridge and stepped in front of his love.

“I’m sorry, I guess, I-I don’t know. I think I’m lost at the moment. I’m not cross with you, love. I’m just a bit off, odd, at the moment.” 

“It’s all right, John. I have an idea.”

“Of course you do,” he said, trying hard to put a smile on his face.

Sherlock reached out a hand. John took it and followed him to the loo.

“A bath is just what you need. It will relax us both and put us in a more agreeable mood?”

“Yes, all right. Dinner will be late.”

“Not a problem, John. Not a problem at all.”

0o0

John had massaged his..follicles for an hour or more. Besides sex with John, nothing relaxed him more. A soak in the tub, preferably together, was the next best thing to sex for John. With that in mind Sherlock collected clean clothes for them while John filled the tub.

When he stepped into the bath area, it was warm and comfortable. John had added a fragrance to the water, apple, his olfactory sensitivities sussed out.

“Nice touch, John.” 

John smiled shyly as he stepped out of his pyjama bottoms and pulled his t-shirt over his head. When he looked up, Sherlock smiled back at him.

“What?”

“You are so beautiful.”

John shook his head. “You need glasses, Sherlock.”

“John, one day, you will believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful. I see you with my heart, as well as my eyes and neither lies when it comes to you.”

Sherlock moved to pull John towards him, framing his face with his hands and dipping his head to kiss him. Releasing him, he turned John towards the tub and walked him to it.

“In, you have goosebumps already.”

“That has nothing to do with it being cold in here, which it isn’t, and everything to do with your proximity.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sherlock murmured while putting on a silly smirk.

“Of course you will.”

John slipped into the water, his sigh like music to Sherlock’s ears. When he tucked himself in behind John, his doctor leaned back against him. 

“This was a brilliant idea, my love.”

“And I have a list of brilliant ideas for after dinner. We can check them off one by one in no particular order.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m finding strength.”

Sherlock kissed John’s neck and wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Extraordinary.”

“Oh, and here it comes now.”


	8. Just a Breath Away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title...

It was just after midnight when the doctor slipped from their love scented bed and padded to the loo. Washing quickly, and brushing his teeth, John returned to the bedroom with a warm flannel to tend to Sherlock who lay on his back with one arm over his eyes. Neither spoke while John cleaned him up, but elegant fingers resting on his thigh was thank you enough.

John lifted Sherlock’s arm away from his face to fold his fingers around the toothpaste-laden brush. 

“If you plan on kissing me with that mouth, you’ll need to brush your teeth.”

Sherlock obeyed, brushing vigorously, then accepting the glass of water to rinse.

“Don’t swallow it, spit,” John demanded, offering up the small emesis basin kept under the sink in the loo. 

Sherlock grimaced, but followed John’s stern instructions. He hated to spit, and John knew that, but it had to be done even if it annoyed his delicate sensibilities. John patted his lips with a tea towel and returned everything to the loo. 

Detouring to the kitchen, John prepared tea and toast with jam and padded back to the bedroom where Sherlock dozed in the same position in which he’d been left.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. I have a little nourishment to replenish your depleted...whatever. I think my brain has gone around the twist, so just sit up and sip your tea and have a bit of toast.”

John sat on the edge of the bed, coaxing Sherlock to eat and drink. Sherlock seemed lost in the aftermath of their lovemaking, unable to function at anything above the toddler stage. 

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, pushing a piece of toast into his mouth. “Guess I found my strength at the same time you lost yours.”

Sherlock glanced at him through eyes he could barely keep open, but he continued to chew and when offered tea, he drank. 

Gathering the cups and the plate, John set them on the floor.

Brushing teeth be damned, he thought as he slid in under the duvet. The taste of tea, toast and jam wouldn’t be a problem. Slotting in against Sherlock, just a breath away, was all fine.

0o0 

Here he was again, standing before the window, at this new time but in this same space, as though he’d boarded that time thing John watched on the telly. He stood perfectly still, watching the shadows lengthen, as day melted into evening. 

“Sherlock, my heart, my love. I can see in your eyes that you’re rewinding, so that you can relive this time we’ve shared. It doesn’t have to end, Sherlock. We have more time, this isn’t the end of it.”

John stood beside him for a moment, then drew him away from the window to straddle his lap on the sofa. Sherlock reached for him, circling his arms around his doctor’s torso and pulling him close to rest his forehead on John’s shoulder.

“Everything ends, John.”

“No, Sherlock, just no. Don’t go there, not today.”

“I want us to stay like this forever, to keep the world outside our door.”

John’s hand cradling his head sent shivers along his spine. Pressing his lips against John’s neck to deliver a kiss, he sighed.

“Do you feel like this will be a danger night for you?”

Sherlock rolled his forehead against John’s shoulder. “Because of you, John, no matter how dark our days sometimes are, I no longer have ‘danger nights.’ My brother invented the term for my former episodes of depression, in preparation for the inevitable diagnosis of bipolar disorder, which never came. When you limped into my life, he had to admit, begrudgingly, that you were better for me than any antipsychotic drug on the market.”

John squeezed him tightly, then pulled away to gaze into his eyes. His smile lit up the room. “Well, yay for me and my psychosomatic limp.”

Sherlock stole John’s mouth, taking his breath away.

“Sherlock?” John whispered against his lips. “This doesn’t have to end, you know. What we have is like a really good book that you can’t put down. There’s a bit of suspense, a lot of thrills, and lots of love-”

“And sex..” Sherlock added with a grin as he felt his previous gloom rapidly dissipate.

“Making love,” John slipped in, finishing his sentence. “Love- making was what I was trying to say.”

“Oh, yes, very good.”

“Sherlock?”

“I’m sorry, John, I’ve interrupted your attempt to cheer me up, which you have already. Admirably, I might add, but do go on and finish your thought.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John didn’t laugh out loud.

“Sherlock?” John frowned, obviously trying to recapture his thoughts. “Shut up.”

“All right, John, my apologies.”

“Stop. Just stop it. You sound like your brother now and it’s so...annoying and not funny in the least.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say one more thing, but thought better of it. By the look on John’s face, storm clouds...the East Wind..was on the rise. He remained silent.

Wearing his most contrite expression, eyes soft, lips pressed together, he waited for John to continue.

“What I was trying to say, and it seems to be a moot point now, I but will say it anyway.”John inhaled deeply, allowing his breath to slowly escape.

“Our love, Sherlock, our life together is like that good book I mentioned a moment ago. A book at number one on the bestseller list for years and years. The thing about a really good book is that you feel a let down at the end, wishing it would go on forever, but the best thing about it is you can always go back to the beginning and read it again, yes?”

Sherlock nodded at John’s rather poetic interpretation of their life together, but he remained silent for more words that John always had at the ready.

“You have your Mind Palace where you can visit your memories anytime you want. I have my memories, too. They are all the best moments of us, and a few not so much the best, but not the worst either. I treasure this time we’ve had the last few days and nothing, nothing, Sherlock will ever take those memories away from me.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by the love that John held in his heart for these recent moments together, Sherlock grabbed John in a fierce hug. He felt John’s shudder and a sudden hitch struck him in his own chest.

“It’s our bestseller, these few precious days, John. Thank you for giving them to me.

“Our truth, Sherlock, yours and mine, and you’re welcome.”

For a time that didn’t matter in the least, they held each other, kissing gently, gazing at each other, little smiles, more kisses and a hug or two or three or four. 

It didn’t matter.

As John pulled back, breathless with the length of one of Sherlock’s blow your mind kisses, he grimaced.

“I need to stand, my love, this position has stiffened my middle-aged back and hips and if I don’t move now, I may never move again.”

“Ah, middle age comes to us all.”

“You’ve said that many times recently, are you feeling your own middle age creeping up on you? You must be thinking about it at least occasionally.”

“Nope,” Sherlock said, popping the ‘p.’

“Liar. I heard your groan a few mornings ago when you crawled out of bed.”

“It’s your imagination, my dear doctor. However, when my middle age does arrive, you will be the first to know, and I will tell you again how much I love you. I look forward to spending my middle age years and the the ones that follow with you. Always with you, my love.”

“I hate to remind you, Sherlock, but it’s just five years, the difference between us. Five years.

Sherlock scooted to the edge of the sofa, placed his hands under John’s arms and lifted him onto his feet, steadying him while he shook out his legs. John clenched his jaw, but otherwise said nothing. 

“Dinner?” Sherlock whispered as he swooped in for another kiss.

“Starving,” John whispered when he found his voice, then giggled.

“Memories?”

“Our first case, the bloody awful cabbie.”

“And when you finally met my arch enemy.”

“After he kidnapped me.”

“Your fearless bravado impressed him.”

“He wasn’t impressed until he threatened me and I stood up to him.”

“‘Well, I think we’ll both find that embarrassing,’” was your snide response, as I recall, John.”

“And, as I recall, I was very succinct, and you were very high.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock said, nodding in agreement.”

Sherlock kept a steadying hand round John’s chest until he was sure his legs would hold him. John looked up at him with a warm smile. Hands on Sherlock’s hips, he pushed up on his toes to kiss his cheek.

“What did I do to deserve that, my love?”

“Just because, love, just because.”

0o0

“Don’t shave yet, John,” Sherlock shouted as he entered the loo to stand behind the startled doctor and snatched the razor from his hand. 

“What the-?” John said, looking back at Sherlock in the mirror, his furrowed brows slowly retreating from his hairline.

“Please? For me?” Sherlock pleaded, careful to avoid those words again, making a mental note to delete ‘please, will you do this for me?’ from his vocabulary of phrases used to coerce John to do what he asked. 

Perhaps, years from now, when it was no longer a searing reminder of one of the three worst times of John’s life, he would retrieve it from the archive in his Mind Palace, where he kept the hurtful words said to John in moments of anger or sorrow. But not now.

“It’s itchy, you berk, and your tender face will not look good with a red rash.”

“I have some aloe to cure the itch. Just until bedtime, John, please? I will shave you myself. Please, will-” Sherlock clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. He blinked to stop the burning behind his eyes. 

Too close, that was too close.

John narrowed his eyes as Sherlock took his shoulders and turned him around, wiping the lather from his face with a clean flannel. 

When John’s expression softened and one small finger touched his lips, Sherlock knew. John had found him out. The data, the evidence was written on his handsome face and in the deep blue eyes that brimmed with tears.

You know my methods, John, use them.

“I know what you were going to say, love. Don’t delete the words, Sherlock. What you said to me on that rooftop? I carry them in my heart every day. Yes, they hurt, but they also remind me that you said them to protect me. Everything you’ve done up to this minute is to protect me. And besides, you can’t wrap me in bubble wrap to protect me from everything that might hurt. I would wither and die.”

John lay his hand on Sherlock’s face, caressing his cheekbone.

“Do you understand, love?”

“Yes, John. I don’t like it, but I understand. I’ll cancel the order for the bubble wrap.”

“Git.”

“Yours.”

“Yes, thank the clueing gods.”

Sherlock swiped at John’s tears with his thumb. “I love you.”

“And I love you right back.”

“Tea?”

John grinned, pushing a curl off his forehead. “All right.”

“Chinese or Thai for dinner?”

“Italian, I think.”

“Angelo’s it is, John. Sending a text as we speak.”

“You already ordered, didn’t you?”

Sherlock felt the blush creep up his neck. He smiled, a touch of guilt on his cheeks as well.

“Never mind. I know your methods, Sherlock.”

0o0

Dinner was lovely, as was the wine; they’d finished the whole bottle between them. Just a bit pissed, John couldn’t remember eating, just that it was the best pasta dish they’d had in a long time. 

Prepared to perfection, as was Angelo’s purpose in life, and delivered personally by the man, he’d pottered around the kitchen, somehow mysteriously knowing where they kept the wine glasses and cutlery, set a perfect table, linens and all and a candle, then was gone a moment after they’d been seated. John stared at the open door long after Angelo had disappeared down the stairs.

Side by side at the sitting room table, their fingers interlocked, John gazed at the silly grin on Sherlock’s face. 

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I love you, John Watson.”

“Now that the introductions are over, I’m going to kiss you.”

John giggled. “I wish you would."

Sherlock puckered up long before their lips met, their teeth taking a bit of a knock.

“Easy there, Mr. Consulting Detective. You’re a bit pissed.”

“I think I could say the same for you, my dear John.”

Resting their heads together, more like propping each other up, and still with hands entwined, John sighed.

“I think we need some coffee to sort us out,” John finally suggested when he realised they were in danger of falling asleep while leaning against each other.

“I think you are absolutely correct, doctor. I’ll throw the dishes away while you..b-b-rr-ew the coffee.”

“All right. I think I’ll brew the coffee strong enough that it won’t need a cup,” he muttered, shaking his head at his own nonsense while struggling to his feet. 

Sherlock stood at the same time, swaying in place. With a hand on the detective’s shoulder, John guided him to the kitchen, and leaned him against the sink. “Rinse these plates while I get the rest of the...stuff from the sitting room table.”

John turned away too quickly, the room whirling around him. He waited for things to return to their places before stumbling from the room.

“And don’t fall, I won’t be able to pick up you. You up.”

“John, yes, I will,” Sherlock called over his shoulder.

“Right, good.”

0o0

The coffee sorted them out enough to manage the walk to the sofa where they had a bit of a kip. When they woke just after midnight, each had a moderately clear head. Two paracetamol each later, they sat in their respective chairs turned toward the fireplace which was the only illumination in the flat and held each other’s hands. It was a precious time to just be.

Later, when the fire was nearly done, Sherlock rose from his chair to secure the screen. Turning back, he offered his hand to John, pulling him to his feet.

Arms around each other, they padded in their socked feet to the bedroom. At the side of the bed, as they shed their clothes, Sherlock held John’s face in his elegant hands and kissed him.

“This, how we love each other, the life we have now, this is our truth, John. Our truth.”

John pulled him down for a kiss. “Our truth.”

Slipping naked beneath the duvet, and in silence slotting into each other, they slept.


End file.
